


Double Secret Probation

by emf



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Death, Animal House AU, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Humor, M/M, Political Incorrectness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-03-01 02:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2756150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emf/pseuds/emf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius Pontmercy doesn't like the Fraternity that his family founded. He chooses instead to join the broken-down, drunken, and frankly embarrassing house that sits at the very end of Frat Row. There he meets the boys who call themselves The ABC.</p>
<p>Or, the Animal House AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Animal House AU. You can read this without seeing the movie,but you should probably go watch it if you haven't.

            Marius Pontmercy was nervous. Also, excited. He expressed this to his comrade-in-arms, Montparnasse, and received a full-bodied scoff in reply.

            “Don’t worry about it, Pontmercy,” Montparnasse said, and _Jesus Christ, Marius hated being addressed by his last name_. “We got this in the bag. Just play it cool. You’re a legacy, for fuck’s sake.”

            “That doesn’t mean automatic membership!” Marius hissed as they approached the steps of the Omega Theta Pi house. He adjusted his tie and shifted behind Montparnasse as they stepped into the foyer, glancing around at the dozens of other rushers competing for a spot at the top fraternity on campus.

            The Omega Theta Pi house was beautiful, spotless, and altogether too reminiscent of Marius’ grandpa’s house to be welcoming. He grimaced at a few of the Omega brothers as they passed by him. Someone handed him some water, and was that a crystal glass? _No_.

            “I don’t think this is the house for me,” Marius whispered to Montparnasse, who shrugged him away and went back to schmoozing with one of the Omega brothers. Marius glanced around and saw that every one of the brothers had the exact same haircut. Marius was both skeptical and a bit frightened.

            “ _Waaalcome,”_ a clean-cut young white boy drawled in Marius’ face. Marius cocked his head to the side and gave a half-formed grin in response.

            “Uh, yeah, thanks,” he stammered, taking a sip of his water. He clinked his teeth on the glass and flinched back, garnering a laugh from the other boy.

“I’m a brother here at Omega Theta Pi,” the clean-cut white boy continued. “A legacy. Name’s Henry. That’s quite a nice tie you’ve got there. Hermés, right?”

            “Marius, actually,” Marius corrected, reluctant to give his last name and be singled out as a fellow legacy. “And, um. I’m leaving? Nice to meet you.”

            The boy looked offended as Marius shoved past him and grabbed ahold of Montparnasse’s bony shoulder. Montparnasse, who had been in a conversation with someone who appeared to be Very Important, whirled around and slapped Marius’ hand away.

            “The fuck, dude?”

            “I’m leaving,” Marius answered. “I don’t like it here.”

            “Are you looking to get stabbed?” Montparnasse hissed. “Don’t ever sneak up on me like that. Fuck off.”

            And with that, Marius Pontmercy, legacy of Omega Theta Pi, scrambled out of the mansion that so resembled home and made his way down the eternal party that was Frat Row—friendless, directionless, and clueless.


	2. The Nerf Football of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marius meets the brothers of Delta Tau Chi.

            Marius was beginning to lose hope.

            All of the fraternities were teeming with young freshmen who were fighting for the coveted position of brotherhood. And Marius _did_ want to be a brother—more than anything, he wanted to share a bond with these young men—but the imposing mansions and the undercurrent of insipid socialization at every one of these houses didn’t appeal to him. Besides, he realized with a huff, none of these houses would consider bringing him in, not when he’d already blown his chance at Omega Theta Pi.

            He saw an empty can of Miller Light on the street and went out of his way to kick it. It rattled two feet away into the gutter and he felt like more of a loser than ever. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe he really was meant to be friendless and solitary, just like grandpa had always said. People were liars and schemers anyway, right? Marius sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. He was prepared to call it a night and resign himself to four more years of being a weird quiet kid who sat alone in the library.

Then a large, sodden projectile smacked him in the face.

            “Oh shit, dude, sorry! Wow, that was really, like, one in a million, you know?”

            Marius blinked and gave himself a few seconds to register what had just happened. Between the waterlogged foam football on the ground, the kid laughing in his face, and the dampness of his cheek, he put together that he’d been hit by the sodden ball and that this kid was trying to apologize.

            “I mean, do you have like a gravitational orbit thing? Wow.” The kid, who had wild black hair and a blinding white smile, shoved out a hand. “Hey, I’m Courfeyrac. What are you doing wandering out here alone?”

            “I’m Marius,” Marius answered, shaking the kid’s hand and almost gagging when he realized it was _sticky_. “Um. I’m rushing?”

            “Hey, no shit!” Courfeyrac looked like he’d just seen the Rapture. “You’re the first tonight! Come on in!”

            Marius whipped his head around and realized that he was at the tail end of Frat Row. Before him stood a decrepit old two-story house, its grey paint peeling in great strips and at least three of its windows broken. Toilet paper formed a streamer from its roof to its brown lawn, upon which two tire-less cars made their home. In the alcove above the door hung the letters ΔΤΧ, the X hanging precariously by what looked like duct tape. From inside the house came the continuous roar of bad dubstep. Marius was horrified.

            “Um, no.”

            “Come on, dude, it’s not all bad! We have free alcohol!”

            The only alcohol Marius had ever had in his life was a glass of wine at last year’s Thanksgiving dinner. It had made the room spin and he’d ended up hunched over the toilet with his grandpa rubbing his back.

            “Um.”

            But Courfeyrac didn’t seem to care what Marius thought—he simply thumped him on the back and led him through the prickly front lawn of the house. When Marius stumbled over an errant hubcap, Courfeyrac caught him.

            “Hey, yeah, that’s Bahorel’s car. He says he’s going to fix it up but, like, it’s been four years. Shithead never gets anything done.”

            “Four years? Shouldn’t he have graduated?”

            “He’s on the seven-year-plan, dude.”

            Marius had never heard of a seven-year-plan. He wondered if it was something he’d overlooked on the forms. But just as he was pondering this, his attention was diverted by movement next to the porch. A tall, overweight man with a nest of black hair was holding himself strangely over a dead rosebush, a beer in one hand. The man turned as he saw the pair approaching and zipped his fly.

            “Gotta water the roses,” the guy slurred. Marius was appalled.

            “That’s fucking _stupid_ , dude,” Courfeyrac complained. “The roses have been dead for years.”

            “Fuck you.” The guy tongued at his beer bottle and, finding it empty, hurled it toward one of the broken-down cars. He extended the hand that had just been touching his privates. “R.”

            Was R his name? Was he so intoxicated that he could only remember a letter? Marius didn’t want to offend R, but he also didn’t want to touch that hand, so he pretended to sneeze, bringing both hands up to cover his face. “ _Achoo_!”

            “Bless you!” Courfeyrac hollered. R threw himself backwards.

            “Bless you! Bless me!” R slurred. “Why’d you say that? It’s antiquated. It’s—he didn’t _lose part of his soul_ , Courfeyrac.”

            “Anyway, that’s Grantaire,” Courfeyrac said, bodily shoving the—frankly offensive smelling—drunk out of the way. “Don’t mind him. He’s our mascot.”

            Marius, in a part of his mind that was steadily wrapping itself in a blanket of denial, pondered that a mascot was supposed to represent a team. So was R representing a team of drunken, unsanitary losers?

            “Welcome to Delta Tau Chi!” Courfeyrac exclaimed, opening the partially unhinged front door with a flourish. Marius was shoved inside and he was not surprised to find that it smelled musty, not unlike the depths of his grandpa’s basement. Unlit neon beer signs plastered the walls of the entryway. A poster of a woman stretched across a Lamborghini was the main piece of what looked to be a dining room. To Marius’ right, the living room was a mess of duct-taped beanbag chairs and folding tables. There was a pack of four men in the corner, hunched over a game of cards. Beer bottles were scattered everywhere.

            “This is nice,” Marius found himself saying, his ingrained manners taking control of the situation. “But, um—”

            “No, no, no, c’mere. You have to meet the guys,” Courfeyrac pled with another big white grin. “Guys, we have a rusher! Hey!”

            The four men looked up from their game in tandem. Marius felt himself being judged and wished he hadn’t slicked his hair back with so much gel.

            “Give him a beer,” one of the men said at last. He was small and portly, with round glasses and pale skin, and he wore a set of ugly green scrubs. “Here, come here,” he sighed, leaning over another man to grab an unopened can of Bud Light. He tossed it to Marius. “What’s your name?”

            “Marius.”

            “I’m Joly.” The guy pointed at a thin, bald Asian guy with a bandage on his face. “This is Bossuet, but you can call him Eagle.”

            “Nice to meet you?” Marius opened his beer with careful precision and took a sip. He gagged.

            “Tastes like piss, but Enjo keeps good shit locked up upstairs,” another man chimed in. He had a long dirty blond hair and a goatee, bushy eyebrows and was bulging with muscle. Marius’ grandpa would have called him Trailer Trash. Also, what was an Enjo?

            “That’s Bahorel,” Courfeyrac supplied. “And Jehan.”

            Jehan was a pale redhead with a ton of freckles and some tragic dreadlocks. He was camping out next to what Marius perceived to be some sort of drug paraphernalia that looked like a vase.

            “Ay,” Jehan said, and that was that.

            “Is this everyone?” Marius asked, curious to meet the rest of the fraternity just to see what else it could possibly offer.

            “No. The President and the Rush Chairman are in the kitchen,” Courfeyrac said, tugging Marius in that direction. Marius followed along, abandoning his beer on a side table along the way. In the kitchen stood three men, positioned around a table that was covered in liquor bottles. One of them was R, the rosebush-pisser from earlier.

            “Courfeyrac,” one of the other guys, a tall black kid with a buzzcut and piercing eyes, said immediately. “Who’s this?”

            “A rusher.”

            The guy looked surprised for a moment, then stepped forward to offer Marius a handshake. “Combeferre. Welcome.” He glanced down at Marius’ suit. “I realize we probably haven’t made the best impression—”

            “Ha!” Squawked R, who had draped himself over the shoulders of a small blond.

            “—but I do hope you consider joining our fraternity,” Combeferre finished with a nasty glare at Grantaire.

            Marius didn’t know what to say so he considered fake-sneezing again, but he was cut off by the blond, who pulled himself away from R to fully face Marius.

            “I’m Enjolras,” he said, and _wow_ , was this guy a model? Marius didn’t usually take notice of male beauty, but this _Enjolras_ was truly perfect looking. “Will you consider us? We’re always looking for new members.”

            “Uh-huh,” Marius found himself saying without thought.

            “We have to recruit at least one new member this year, else the University will kick us out,” Courfeyrac explained. “Seriously. We won’t haze you or anything, and you’ll only room with one other dude. Pinky swear.”

            “Don’t pressure him,” Combeferre scowled.

            “I’ll join,” Marius spat out, because apparently his brain and mouth weren’t cooperating at that moment. “Sure, yeah. I’ll join. Um. What are the dues?”

            “S’only like a couple hundred bucks,” R answered, coming in behind Enjolras to wrap his arms around his waist. “Or there’s a, uh, planned pay.”

            “Payment plan,” Enjolras corrected. “And we ask that you read over our mission statement and rules. We’re not…exactly like the other fraternities. I— _dammit, Grantaire, later_.”

            “Are you—” Marius stopped himself before asking if they were a gay fraternity, because that would be rude and could also get him kicked out. He just shot a pointed look at R’s hands, which were firmly clasped around Enjolras’ waist, and raised his eyebrows.

            “No, we’re not a gay fraternity,” Combeferre said, because he could apparently read minds. “The President’s just gay. We’re all-inclusive.”

            “Okay,” Marius replied. “Okay, sounds good. I’ll join? Just give me a day to get my stuff in order.”

            “Excellent,” Enjolras exhaled with a smile. “Welcome to Delta Tau Chi.”


End file.
